Page 23 of Dangerous Beginnings

I raise an eyebrow. What does he expect me to do? He keeps me here like a fucking animal and now he wants me to do him a favor?

“No,” I hiss back as I cross my arms while looking away from him. I am not his prisoner nurse. I expect him to do his worst and force me but somehow, he doesn’t. He doesn’t move, standing still in the doorway. I think a few minutes pass and nobody says anything. I can feel the tension growing.

“Please,” his jaw tightens and his teeth click shut after the word leaves his lips. My eyes slowly dwell back to where he is standing.

“Give me one good reason why I should do that?”

His face darkens, and for a moment, I think he might snap. “Because if I die, you die too. No one knows where you are. Without me, you’ll starve here, slowly, alone.”

The gravity of his words settles over me, and I realize he’s right. He’s the only thread between me and the outside world. My throat tightens, but I force myself to think clearly. I can get something out of this. I won’t ask for freedom—he won’t give me that—but there’s something else.

“I want something in return.” His eyes narrow, studying me closely. The request has caught him off guard, but I hold his gaze, unflinching. He steps forward, slowly crossing the room until he’s crouched in front of me, the weight of his presence pressing down on me like a suffocating shadow.

“And what would that be?” My eyes immediately shoot back up to his.

“I want a mattress again,” I say, my voice steady, but underneath it, I’m sure he can feel my desperation clawing. “And more blankets.”

“Done.”

He’s not going to give me what I want most, freedom. But it’s something.

I reach out towards the medical kit. I take out everything that’s in it, placing it on the ground. I focus on the tools in front of me, but I have such a headache that concentration seems impossible. I look at his hands and notice the shards of glass in them. His white shirt is also stained with blood. The sheer amount of blood makes me feel sick. As a nurse, I’m used to seeing blood, but the problem here is that I don’t know who this blood is from. Is the blood on his blouse even his?

His hands are huge and rough compared to mine. Black ink stains his fingers—black ink and blood.

“Could you take your rings off?” I ask as I reach over to the alcohol mixture next to me. I can hear him throwing his rings on the concrete floor next to me. Why I can’t just let him bleed till death, I don’t know. Fuck the good person in me.

I begin cleaning his hands, taking every piece of glass out. Onsome cuts, there are no stitches needed, but some do. I stitch two deep cuts in his left hand. He does not flinch or make any sounds as I stitch him up. It brings me to wonder if he feels at all. We remain silent during the entire process. I know better than to ask him anything about where he has been or what he is doing. The more I know, the less chance there is going to be that I am ever going to get my freedom back.

As I stitch his last cut, I notice a tiny tattoo on his ring finger. It’s an S.

“Who is theluckygirl with a name starting with an S?” I ask with a dark laugh. I can feel his eyes burn into me as I continue pulling the thread through the cut.

“My little sister.” I raise my eyebrow at his answer—the fact that he answers so quickly stuns me. He has a sister, a little sister. My mouth shapes an O as I realize my thoughts were very wrong as to what I thought the letter stood for. Small talk couldn’t hurt, right?

“How old is she?” I ask as I finish the last stitch.

“She is dead.”

I stop dead in my tracks as his voice rings through the room. “I-I’m sorry, I hope you got to say goodbye at least.”

A silence stretches in the air between us. The tiny splinters of glass are spread around the room, covering the concrete floor. He stares at me and slowly his eyes move down my body. His eyes meet mine again after trailing down.

“She got murdered along with my mother, so no Isabella. I did not get to say goodbye. There was nothing for me to bury except my soul.”

I stare at him in disbelief. My mouth feels dry, I have no idea what to say. I did not see that coming. I swallow thickly, the tension grows as his dark eyes remain on mine. His gaze is dark, full of pain. He gets up as I stay silent on the floor. Focusing my eyes on the ground. I feel like I pushed the wrong button—like Idid something wrong. He gathers all the things around me and cleans it up.

“Spasibo solnyshko.” A sad smile that does not reach my eyes appears on my face.

“You’re welcome.”

Chapter 15

Everything Happens

for a Reason

Diable

---